6:20 p.m.
She snuggled closer, listening to the rhythmic beating of his heart against her ear. It was a peaceful, calming sound at the end of a long day, yet she knew him well enough to know that he was troubled by something.
Elise snatched the remote from the coffee table and looked up at Mitch.
“Do you mind if I shut this off?” It was a rhetorical question more than anything else since his gaze was fixed on the wall, his thoughts obviously somewhere other than the sitcom on the screen.
“Huh? What?” He pulled his focus off faraway places long enough to bend his head and steal a quick kiss. “Sure, whatever you want, ’Lise.”
She giggled. “You have absolutely no idea what I just asked you, do you?”
“Sure I do,” he said, shaking his head at the same time.
“I didn’t think so.” Elise dropped her legs to the ground and sat up.
“Whoa, where are you going?”
“Nowhere. Just want to see your face a little easier.” She spun her legs toward him, then pulled them up and under her, resting her left elbow on the back of the couch. “Are you okay, sweetie? You were kinda quiet during dinner, and just now . . . you were a million miles away.”
He ran his hand across his face and through his hair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize . . .”
Reaching outward, she cupped the side of his face in her right hand. “Hey, I’m not looking for an apology. Just want to know if there’s anything I can do.”
He pulled his legs from under the coffee table and turned his body slightly to the right. “I guess my mind is back at the office. And I’m sorry about that. If I’d realized just how much this was gonna bug me I wouldn’t have come.”
She held her index finger to his lips to silence his apology. “Hey, I’m glad you came. I like being with you no matter what. Please know that. Always.”
He reached out, wrapped one of her curls around his finger and simply looked at her, the love in his eyes making the butterfly brigade in her stomach take flight.
Elise closed her eyes, reveled in the feel of his soft hand as it left her hair and moved down her face, stopping beside her chin as his lips met hers. The kiss lasted several long minutes, the beat of her own heart accelerating rapidly beneath her hunter green sweater.
When they stopped, she opened her eyes and smiled. “I love you, Mitch.”
“I love you, ’Lise.” His voice was gruff and raspy, the longing in his eyes raw as he leaned his head into the couch. “Nothing like pushing work out of my mind, huh?”
“But it’s back now, isn’t it?” She wished she could wipe away the worry from his face, keep the aura of the past few seconds front and center in his life. But that wasn’t reality, and she knew it. He was a great detective because he cared about the people he served. Change that, and he wouldn’t be the man she loved.
He nodded. “Yeah.”
“Can I help? You know that anything you say stays between us.”
Mitch pushed off the couch and walked over to the lone window in the tiny living room. “I know that. It’s just—” He pulled the curtains back and looked outside, his body tense and rigid. “Awww, ’Lise, this Hannah Daltry investigation is weighing on me on a whole different level.”
“How’s that?” She debated going over to him, wrapping her arms around his waist as he stared out the window, but she didn’t. There were times space was best.
“Last summer, I was racing to figure out who the killer was so I could keep others from falling prey. But this time I can’t help but feel I’m responsible.”
She gasped. “How? Why?” Her heart thudded against her chest as she waited for him to explain his words.
“Think about it, ’Lise. If I’d taken the first two robberies more seriously, acted quicker . . . your teacher would still be alive.”
“Oh, Mitch, no!” She jumped off the couch and walked over to him, held his face in her hands. “You can’t think like that. Not ever. You were investigating those robberies, you were doing your job. This was not your fault, Mitch Burns.”
His arms encircled her shoulders and pulled her close, the tension in his body subsiding. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, emotional. “Awww, baby, I love you.”
“I love you too.” She took his hand in hers and tugged him toward the couch. “Come on back and sit with me.”
“You sit. I’m okay.” He squeezed her hand, then released it. “I’m too keyed up to sit.”
“Okay.” Elise wandered back to the couch. “So what are you thinking about all of this now that you’ve had a chance to get at the evidence?”
Mitch shrugged. “I don’t know. But I did think about calling you earlier to ask a few questions, then I just figured I’d wait.”
“Shoot.”
“You said something about Jacob Brown and an argument with the teacher.” He turned, leaned his back against the window. “Tell me about that again.”
She pivoted on the couch to afford a more comfortable view of Mitch while they talked. “I wouldn’t call it an argument exactly. He was just in a foul mood because I was in his class. And it grew more foul when Ms. Daltry praised my writing and called him on his attitude in front of everyone.”
“Did he threaten her?”
“No, he just was agitated enough that other students noticed—one of which commented on his anger, that’s all.” She searched his face for a clue to his line of questioning but saw nothing. “Why? I thought Ms. Daltry’s death was being attributed to the robbery in the computer lab.”
She tracked Mitch around the tiny living room with her eyes, aware of his brooding demeanor.
He opened his mouth to speak, stopped, and then started again. “I think it is. But this Jacob connection can’t be ignored either.”
She felt her mouth gape open, her eyes widen. “What do you mean?”
Mitch shrugged again. “If he’s mad at you, he’s got to be mad at me.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because I’m the one who actually pulled the trigger.”
Elise contemplated Mitch’s words as her thoughts rewound through their conversation. “Okay, say you’re right. Why would he start breaking and entering around town? What does that do?”
Mitch exhaled loudly as he dropped into the single papasan in the corner of the room. “It gets at me. It would be like one giant head game . . . like cat and mouse. A way to test me, taunt me.”
There was no two ways about it. Her reporter persona was intrigued. “I suppose that’s possible. Though he still seems like a good kid below all that anger. But let’s pretend he’s not. He does a few minor break-ins and then goes after the computer lab, killing our teacher in the process. That’s kind of taking the cat and mouse game to a sick level, don’t you think?”
He met her gaze across the coffee table, concern etched around his eyes and mouth. “I think Hannah Daltry’s death was a colossal mistake.”